


Fire in my Blood

by Siriusly_W1cked



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-12-13 19:59:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11767293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusly_W1cked/pseuds/Siriusly_W1cked
Summary: The legendary dragon Ancalagon has apparently been found. In much need of a change of scenery, Hermione decides to go Romania and see for herself if the rumours are true. A dream team of extraordinary Tamers, Researchers and Magizoologist is assembled to tackle on the find of the century. Old magics are awakened and strange occurrences unveil that not all is as it seems.





	1. Chapter 1

She’d had a fight with Viktor that morning. Again. 

 

Lately, it was all they did, really. Well, one of two things. 

 

It was getting tiresome, the bad days far outweighing the good days and they both knew it. She had tried to be reasonable, told the Quidditch player that they shouldn’t be together if the feelings weren’t there anymore. She offered to return the ring. She suspected he had given it to her in hopes of fixing a relationship that had no more room to grow, like a plant that had outgrown its pot and started to wither. 

 

But the Bulgarian would have none of it; he thought himself a failure and their relationship could not pile onto the misfortunes that kept befalling him. He’d gotten injured the autumn of the year before during a game in France. A healer had given him a potion that gave him an allergic reaction and it all somehow concluded in irreparable tissue and nerve damage on his shoulder. He could no longer play Quidditch; his career was over. 

 

It was understandable that he was upset. His whole future had revolved around a Golden Snitch he could no longer pursue. However he was growing bitter with every passing day, going wild with resentment. Winning the lawsuit against the French healing centre had done nothing to appease him. He was rich beyond belief now, even more so than before, but money couldn’t give him back what fate had taken away. 

 

_ “They stole my life and you stole my best years! You vant to leave me now that I’m no Quidditch star anymore?” Viktor’s English had improved tenfold, but his accent was still very pronounced. He was half snarling at this point, looking more like a rabid dog than a man.  _

 

_ “Excuse me?” She was not going to take this lying down. “I think you could accuse any woman except me of wanting you just for your Quidditch stardom. I hate Quidditch! I went to your games because it was important to you but I could have very well taken a book for all I care! I was always worried sick something would happen…” She realised her mistake too late, the words were already out.  _

 

_ “And something did happen! I suppose you vere dying to say ‘I told you so’! A perfect voman you are, alvays know everything. Except now that I am at my lowest you want to leave me? Is that how you take serious commitments?” He was starting to shout, which only served to fuel her anger. _

 

_ Even Minerva McGonagall had refrained from ever shouting at Hermione Granger. If her admired professor hadn’t indulged with just cause, she wasn’t going to allow any man to shout at her.  _

 

_ “Get your shit together, Viktor!” she snapped. “You are alive and well, and while you can’t play Quidditch any longer, the world is yours to do with what you will! You have the means to do anything else you feel like doing! You’re letting bitterness eat away at you, it’s not healthy.” By the end of her short tirade her voice had subdued. She was worried about him. She wasn’t in love with him anymore but she had loved him once and she still cared for him.  _

 

_ “I don’t want to do anything else! I want my life back!” He finally broke down, tears streaming down his face.  _

 

_ “Love…” She went to hold him trying to give him some support, somehow.  _

 

_ “But I’m no longer your love, am I?” His voice was so full of hostility that it almost hit her like a slap,  _ _ stopping her in her tracks _ _.  _

 

_ “Viktor, what’s happened to you?” She couldn’t believe how things were unfolding. Watching the love of her life turn into this… acrid human being was appalling.  _

 

She’d left the house shortly after that, promising she'd be back after work to pick up her things and move out. The former Seeker had yelled, cursed and broken a vase in his rage, accusing her of leaving because he wasn’t famous anymore. She hadn’t nor would she ever be in the mood for the spectacle. 

 

She approached Mila’s tent, trying to think of an excuse for forgetting her own pain relieving potion and not bringing the spares she’d promised the day before. 

 

“Good morning, Mila! How’s it going?” Hermione tried to inquire as cheerfully as she could. 

 

After shooting a single glance her way the healer asked “What’s wrong? What happened?” 

 

The Bulgarian woman was the best healer in camp. Ever since Hermione had started working at the reserve, she and Mila had become fast friends. Mila had an innate ability to read her like very few could, and she also had a sharp eye that could see through all rough façades of most Tamers. 

 

Hermione sighed, knowing that there was no escaping the blond woman.  Mila's piercing blue eyes may be the color of a frozen lake, high in the mountains, but far from being cold and indifferent, were filled with worry today . Those eyes could see right through her lies. 

 

“I think this is it. I told Viktor I’m moving out when I get back from work. We had a horrible row this morning and while that’s not in itself unusual, I’m just exhausted. I think we’ve fought every day for the past six months for some reason or another. I don’t think we can fix this.” She looked back at her friend and couldn’t help the sad smile that appeared on her face. “Despite everything, I just want to help him. I’m still worried about him.” 

 

“It’s understandable. You’ve been with him for three years, even if you don’t love him anymore, you still care for him.” Mila’s voice was soothing, soft, understanding. The woman could go from chastising to empathetic in a millisecond. 

 

“I’m sorry I forgot the potions, but after everything this morning I left them in the kitchen and now I need a potion for my headache or I might finally murder Mitko.” Her boss of five years had been the bane of her existence since she’d arrived, despite the fact that she had more than proven capable and a true asset to the Bulgarian reserve. 

 

Dimitar “Mitko” Georgiev seemed to hate her for no good reason other than the fact that she was a woman. According to his archaic views, only true men could become Tamers, and he resented her success in the field and proceeded to harass her every time she accomplished something. 

 

“You might do us all a favour if you do.” The blond was looking through her cabinets for the pain relieving potion. 

 

“I’ve been thinking about moving back to England. I don’t feel like I belong here anymore. I originally intended to stay just for my apprenticeship. Then things took off with Viktor, so I stayed.” Mila handed her the tiny phial and she drank it in one swig. “Without him, it just makes sense for me to leave. I love my job but I hate the work environment in the reserve. I have nothing left here really.”

 

“Oh, it’s lovely to see I mean so much to you,” Mila said sarcastically. 

 

“Don’t play daft, you know what I mean. I’ve never felt quite at home here, you being the only saving grace. I think it’s time for me to reevaluate my options.” The potion was starting to take effect, but her uneasiness remained. 

 

“Yeah, sure try to fix it now,” the healer replied playfully. “You know, when word gets out that you’re looking to relocate there’s going to be a ruckus,” she warned. 

 

“Bloody titles.” Gryffindor princess, The Golden Girl… They called her by several others but she hated them all equally. She hated being the subject of news and gossip. Her only complaint from helping Harry had been the loss of her anonymity. 

 

She’d be lying if she said it hadn’t played a part in her choice of career. While she loved dragons, she never expected to end up in a secluded reserve in the middle of nowhere. However, it gave her ample time for her research in potions and magical creatures. It provided the adrenaline rush she’d come to crave after the war and it was a hands-on job that allowed her to experience the somewhat fast results of her hard work. There was nothing quite like watching the development of a little hatchling into a fully grown dragon or to bring a youngling back to health. 

 

It also made it quite difficult for reporters to find their way into her tent and look around. Even the boldest of them cowered at the thought of sneaking up on a rogue dragon on the way. It allowed her to have a private life while staying true to all her aspirations. Staying out of the public eye was certainly a really big plus and to even further the difficulty of reaching her, she moved to Bulgaria for her apprenticeship. The Scotland reserve was a little too close to home and Hogwarts for her liking, after the war and her involvement in it. 

 

Hermione waited a full year to go collect her parents from Australia, not wanting to risk their safety. There were still a couple of escaped Death Eaters running about and she knew her family was a prime target for revenge. Percy had died pushing Fred out of the way of a falling wall and the loss had made them all particularly cautious when it came to their safety. However, when she finally made it there her parents were less than amused. The faith they had in their daughter was lost, and while they believed she had done what she thought best, they couldn’t forgive the alteration of their memories. They couldn't trust their own perception of the world and without it, their notion of reality was forever corrupted. They informed her that they would be staying in Australia and that they would write when they were ready to see her. After three years she was still waiting. 

 

It had been extremely difficult to adapt to her new environment and she realised now that she had relied heavily on Viktor for support. Without her parents and her two best friends she’d focussed on work and while making major breakthroughs in her field , she felt a little too disconnected from her past life. Harry and Ron wrote but not often enough to constitute as regular correspondence. It had always been difficult for them to write back. Molly and Ginny Weasley were her main sources of news from home and she found she missed them terribly. 

 

“So you’re thinking Scotland?” Mila asked, startling her out of her thoughts. 

 

“Yes, I miss my family too much.” The healer knew by now that she meant her friends and the Weasleys. 

 

“Don’t you think reporters will be flocking around in no time, that close to home?” She said while reorganising the potions and bandages for the day. 

 

“Probably. I’m not thrilled about that but I’ve nowhere else to go. I could apply to several other reserves but… I think I’d be just as lonely.” It was a hard thing to say out loud, especially for Hermione, but Mila had a way of making people comfortable enough to tell them their most inner thoughts and feelings. 

 

“Mila! Mila! Did you hear?” A young man came bursting through the opening of the tent, breaking the moment. He was struggling to catch his breath, his brown eyes were lit with excitement, his slick black hair falling over his eyes, which told the two witches that no one was hurt or in danger. “They found him! The Romanians, they’ve found him!” Grog was flushed and out of breath but his smile was making his face come alive. 

 

“Calm down, take a breath,” said the healer appeasingly. 

 

“What are you talking about, Grog?” asked Hermione. The young wizard in question was a new recruit, greener than a stick of celery but full of enthusiasm. He could be a tad overwhelming at times and only Hermione and Mila seemed to be able to tolerate him. 

 

“They’ve found  _ The Biting Storm.  _ They’ve found Ancalagon and he’s  _ alive! _ ,” he finally said after he drank some of the water Mila had handed him. 

 

“You know not what you’re saying, boy,” said the blond dismissively. 

 

“No, I swear it’s true. I’ve heard all the senior Tamers talking about it all morning, some of them didn’t go to bed and are asking for transfers as we speak!” he exclaimed excitedly. 

 

“The legend of Ancalagon is more than two thousand years old.” Hermione didn’t mean to sound condescending. It was something she’d been working on for years, her usual tone didn’t blend particularly well with the temperaments of Dragon Tamers. Grog had obviously taken a blow to the head of some sort. 

 

“I know! But that’s what they’re saying! Apparently, they’re only taking five new tamers to work on the case and the whole place is in uproar! It’s on the first page of every newspaper and it’s all they talk about on the wireless!” He was almost shouting at this point and the brunette was starting to worry for his sanity. What he was claiming couldn’t possibly be true and his delusion seemed to include outside sources… It must have been a particularly nasty fall. Perhaps the young apprentice had taken a tail to the head. 

 

“Sweetheart, a creature the likes of the legend would be beyond old and a size the likes I don't think you understand. Where would a creature that size have been hidden?” she asked slowly. Hermione was trying really hard not to sound like a mother speaking to her three-year-old. The annoyed look on his face told her she was failing miserably. 

 

“I’m not an idiot, I know what I’m talking about,” he replied irritably. “Turn on the wireless if you don’t believe me!” 

 

Mila gave in and went to her desk to tap the small wooden wireless with her wand. Some Bulgarians were shouting over each other, speaking too fast for Hermione to follow. The healer tapped her wand to it again trying to tune it to an English station, stopping when she heard two British women. 

 

“ _... Son Doong of all places! Who would have thought? Wizards have searched for centuries for the corpse of the famed dragon and it turned out it was in a hidden muggle cave. But no, that wasn’t interesting enough, the dragon in question, Ancalagon, is alive! Alive!” _

 

_ “To be frank, I’m just as surprised as you, Mel. The wizarding community has had some big news lately but this tops the cake! We were just talking to the mother of the Romanian tamer who happened to find the legendary dragon.” _

 

_ “For those of you tuning in just now, the storied millennial dragon Ancalagon has been found alive in a cave in Vietnam. Found by the mother of a Romanian Dragon tamer who happened to be on vacation and on a tour of the muggle Son Doong caves. Or perhaps I should say former muggle caves, now that the International Body for Magic has seized the area.” _

 

_ “Margaret Lys, recounted earlier that she recognised the scorch marks around the cave from her visit to her son's Reserve in Romania. Given the language barrier, she decided to call her son, instead of the local magical authorities. This has started a major legal discussion in the magical community, for the Romanians caught on incredibly quickly once they realised it was a breakthrough find.  _

 

_ “How they managed to make the transfer or why the local authorities allowed it remains unknown. Once the Vietnamese realised the mistake they’d made, the dragon was already in Romanian custody. They claimed that ancient Romanian secrets of dragonlore were used to relocate the massive beast and are registered as property of the government, and as such are subject to the utmost secrecy and could not be moved back.” _

 

_ “To be frank, there is very little information at the time being, however, it’s hard not to speculate with such juicy headlines, Mel!” _

 

_ “Indeed it is, Kar. We’re left to wonder who will take over the case once the legal discussion passes over whose jurisdiction it falls under. I’m thinking the Romanians have an edge now that the dragon is on Romanian soil and they’ve stated that any country who wishes to challenge their claim has to prove they can relocate the dragon safely to their country without Romanian help. Given the monstrous proportions of the animal, this may prove difficult and, from what it looks like, impossible.” _

 

_ “Which leaves us with the question of who will be transferring to Romania to work on the case? An open search for five dragon tamer transfers from all over the world has been published this morning from the Romanian government. They as good as confirmed that the dragon will be staying there, at least for the time being.” _

 

_ “I think there’s very little doubt that the Romanians will be courting famed war heroine, Hermione Granger.” _

 

At the mention of her name, Hermione groaned out loud, not caring that Grog was present to witness her moment of misery. She always tried to be professional beyond reproach in front of the new recruit but the circumstances were rather unusual. She couldn’t help but curse her fame at that moment. She’d relished in the recognition of her hard work when she was younger and new to the wizarding world, but since the war she preferred to keep a low profile, trying to live her life without making the news. 

 

_ “... famous Estignis, who’s rumoured of having the ability to talk to the beasts themselves, descendant, maybe, of a hybrid race, we’ll never know for sure. Another candidate might be the well known greek Tamer, Portokalis, who discovered the breed of non-winged dragons that live near the magical area of Santorini.” _

 

_ “Those dragons are rather small and barely dangerous, though. I’m not sure that it’ll help him classify for the top five picks, Mel.” _

 

_ “You may be right, Kar. However, his work on the field is undeniably important even if it isn’t very glamorous.” _

 

_ “When we come back, we’ll keep discussing potential candidates for transfer to work on the case of the legendary dragon Ancalagon, who’s been found alive in a cave in Vietnam. You are listening to the Wizarding Wireless Network News, we’ll be right back after some word from our sponsor, Nimbus 2012.” _

 

At this, Mila tapped her wand over the wooden radio and it went silent. 

 

Hermione was the first to speak, per usual. “I remain sceptical,” she said. “The chances of it being Ancalagon are very slim, more so given the fact that they managed to relocate him to Romania. I don’t think it would be possible to move a dragon half that size. It’s either a publicity stunt of some sort or they’re trying to get the best Tamers to transfer to their reserve. They’d have to stay at least two seasons given transfer regulations.” 

 

Hermione had never been particularly shy about her opinions but now she owned them in a completely different way. Her job had helped her in regards to becoming more assertive. A moment of doubt in the field could mean losing a limb. 

 

“Well, I think it  _ is _ Ancalagon and I’m going to apply right now for a transfer to Romania. I chose this program over theirs and I think I have a chance of getting my place back if I apply sooner rather than later!” With that, Grog skipped towards the entrance of the tent and was gone without waiting for a reply. 

 

It didn’t take long for Mila to jump at the unsuspecting witch, excitement gripping her just as it had the young trainee. 

 

“I think this is a sign, Plamŭk. You walked in this morning saying that you don’t want to stay in Bulgaria and I think I’m in need of a change of scenery as well. Let’s go to Romania together!” The healer’s voice was deep, very persuasive and if she was honest with herself, the passion in her voice was even contagious. 

 

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind. I miss my family, I need to find solid ground again. And I don’t believe for a second that the dragon they found is Ancalagon. It’s absurd to even entertain the notion! I can’t believe they’re making such a fuss about this,” said Hermione, her voice dripping with annoyance. It was preposterous to think that there was a two thousand and five-hundred-year-old dragon in the Romanian reserve. Idiots, the lot of them.  

 

“I’m not saying it is. I’m saying there’s a dragon big enough and old enough to be thought of as Ancalagon in Romania right now. Wouldn't you want to be part of the team that works on the case? Think about your research. You’ve already discovered two more uses for dragon’s blood and that was before…” She cut her speech short, noticing the frown forming in Hermione’s face. This wouldn’t be the way to convince her, knowing Hermione didn’t like to talk about her accident. 

 

“All I’m saying is there’s no Dragon Tamer in the field that can do what you do, and even if they could, I’m sure it would be a botched half arsed version of what you could accomplish,” said Mila, almost holding her breath. 

 

It was smart, appealing to her intellect, to her curiosity. The Tamer in her wanted to see this dragon, because she was right, even if it wasn’t the real thing it had to be formidable to have caused such a commotion. Dragons were big, it was their nature. How big was this creature that had the international community in uproar? Then there was the researcher in her. The dragon had to be old, very old to have been thought to be the millennial creature. A scale or even a fragment of a claw could be invaluable for her current investigation. 

 

The Tamer silently cursed the healer in her head, knowing that she had started a mental wheel she very rarely managed to stop. The possibilities were endless and Hermione had to see them through. 

 

“Fine, I’ll think about it,” said Hermione. They both knew she had already made up her mind, but what else could she say? She wasn’t going to roll over and expose her soft scaled underbelly. 

 

“Good. I’ll get my paperwork sorted and started. If you’re leaving, be it for Romania or Scotland, I think it’s a good time to try my luck somewhere else anyway. See you later!” And with that the healer walked out of the tent, leaving behind a very annoyed Hermione. 

 

This actually gave her an opening. It was the perfect excuse to leave Bulgaria without being questioned about her relationship. It wouldn’t betray her break up, at least not as fast as relocating to a different reserve for no reason like she originally had planned would have done. 

 

_ Romania it is, then. At least for the time being. I’ll be back home after my curiosity is sated and enough time has passed so the press won't hound me with questions about Viktor. I’ll just say the distance put too much pressure on our relationship and we simply grew apart or some such nonsense,  _ she thought. _ When did my life turn into this? _ she wondered. 

 

Hermione sighed and walked out, deciding she better start the paperwork sooner rather than later. 


	2. Chapter 2

Charlie Weasley had never been so excited in his life. Not the day he had been accepted as a trainee at the reserve, nor the day he touched his first Viper Tooth, not even the day he’d saved his first dragon, Norberta, from the tentacles of a rabid Graphorn. The Tamer still bore the scars on his arm from the latter, the tattoo he had gotten to commemorate the occasion went well with them, he thought. 

 

Today topped all of those days. He had heard legends as a kid about the mightiest winged dragon in recorded history. Ancalagon, the  _ Rushing Jaws _ . He couldn't wait to actually be near the creature in question. Not even in his wildest dreams could he have thought something like this up.  _ Ancalagon is alive and in my reserve _ , he thought.

 

Charlie didn’t know if he should believe it was actually the millennial lizard. In the end, he supposed it didn’t really matter, either. Just the thought of it had rekindled his fire for Dragonlore and Taming. It somehow ground him even further into place. Not that he had really doubted his place was with dragons, but after the war he’d thought about moving to a reserve closer to home, closer to his family.

 

This eradicated even the smallest possibility of moving even to a different hut. With all the new recruits, though, he didn't quite know what to make of the situation. Having strangers in the reserve was something he wasn’t looking forward to. He didn't fancy having competition, he was one of the best tamers in Romania and while he was a confident man, the thought of having the best tamers in the world move into his territory made him uneasy.

 

“Hey, Char, how’s it going?” came a voice from behind him. 

 

Mack was holding a heating container for abandoned eggs between his legs, giving slow, unsteady step in his direction and simultaneously balancing what looked like random objects in his arms. His walking resembled that of a very slow and not very graceful penguin. Charlie couldn’t contain the laughter as he watched him go. 

 

“Is that any way to treat your best friend? Help me out, you fucker!” He said between gritted teeth. His chin was pointing to the sky, trying to keep a charred book in place above the pile, his attempt at speaking making the whole thing shake unsteadily. 

 

Charlie was still laughing, even as he crouched to take the container between his legs carefully before attempting to pull it in case the egg inside was still developing. Mack had no regard for such things and simply opened his legs as if to let it drop to the floor, forcing Charlie to dive a little to make up for the weight difference. But there was no weight difference, the egg container was empty. 

 

“Wha—” 

 

As Charlie pushed the box upward losing his balance, he hit the back of Mack’s knee making him do a double step in an attempt to stay upright with little success. Both Tamers ended up in a pile of limbs, books, random toys and what looked like the blackened skull of a small animal. 

 

_ What in the name of Merli— _

 

“You know, if you two boys wanted to be tangled like that there was no need to make up such a silly ploy to achieve it,” said a sultry voice from behind them. 

 

“Now, Now, Ana, Charlie knows he need only ask. I’ve been trying to convince him to stop by my hut an evening or two with no success,” replied Mack. The tosser was on top of Charlie, much to redhead’s chagrin, as he said this. 

 

“I think he’s sweet on someone else or something,” said Mack, his voice thick with mischief. 

 

At this, Charlie had to knock the idiot off him and glared at him with a vengeance. He regretted dearly saying anything about what had almost transpired between him and Ioana the other night. 

 

She’d been flirting with him for a while and he had half a mind to give in to her advances. Especially that day. They had both been in the heating chamber where they kept sick hatchlings. Sweaty from the temperature and the exertion of playing with the baby dragons, Charlie had dropped to the ground for a break, closing his eyes. The redhead had felt her fingers in his forehead before he opened his eyes to find Ioana mere inches from him. Holding a bottle of water charmed to remain cold, she’d proceed to feed it to him bit by bit. After a moment or two, it seemed like she was about to kiss him before one of the hatchlings had sneezed and breathed fire for the first time, setting Ioana’s boot on fire. 

 

“It seems he’s a tough nut to crack,” was her only reply, bringing Charlie back to reality. 

 

“What are you even carrying?” the redhead asked. 

 

“They’ve asked me to vacate my hut to make room for the newcomers. Seems some of us are going to have to share some of the huts to make space for all the researchers and new tamers. I hear there are even Spell Makers coming in,” Mack said matter of factly. 

 

Charlie couldn’t swallow the groan that escaped him then, making Mack and Ioana laugh. 

 

“They better not ask me to make room, or Merlin forbid,  _ relocate _ ,” said Charlie, the horror at the notion evident in his voice. “or I might just have Tina take a wee all over it before I move,” he said disgruntled. 

 

Charlie heard his steps before he heard Gheorghe say “Is that so, Weasley?”

 

The redhead simply turned around and smiled at his boss, pretending he hadn’t just threatened to vandalise his hut if he were asked to vacate it. 

 

“I was actually coming here to let you know that you’ll be sharing your living space with Estignis, if you can manage that, Weasley. We’ve just confirmed the addition to the team,” said Gheorghe before turning to Mack. “Two of the new apprentices will be living in your old hut and you’ll be sharing with Ioana for now. We might have to change you again if the new mediwitch decides she wants to share with Ioana instead of Clay, Merlin knows how he gets.”

 

He gave them all a noncommittal look and after receiving no reply or further complaints he walked away without another word. 

 

“ _ Estignis? _ You get to share with  _ Estignis?  _ How is that fair?!” exclaimed Mack indignantly. 

 

“Cool your scales, you tosser. You shouldn’t buy into every rumour you hear,” said Charlie irritably. The redhead was officially having a bad day, despite the promising beginning.  

 

Estignis was a name that kept popping up lately when Taming was concerned. Plenty of rumours regarding the recently framed Dragon Tamer had been coming and going within their small community the past year or so. Rubbish, all of it. It had to be.

 

And yet… it was precisely people that doubted the rumours that somehow seemed to give new life to them. Their denial making the believers only more fierce about their attempts at convincing the entire wizarding community of the magical exception that was Estignis. 

 

Estignis, what kind of stupid name was that anyway?

 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Such a waste to have him bunk with you instead of me! In what world is this fair?” cried Mack, holding his tiny charred skull to his chest. 

 

“You never did explain what’s all this rubbish you were carrying,” said Charlie in an attempt to change the subject. Mack could get unbearable if allowed to go on and on about his magical theories. 

 

“These are mostly toys I take to the hatchlings to chew and burn when they’re in isolation,” he replied simply before continuing. “Also, the stuff I keep in my desk is somewhere in there, too.”

 

“Mmm…”

 

Ioana had remained silent but looked just as irritated as Charlie. “If you even try to bring that mess anywhere near my hut, you better believe you’ll be sleeping with the hatchlings along with those toys,” she said lifting her nose in distaste and leaving them to their musings. 

 

“Pity she’s only got eyes for you,” said Mack, a wicked smile on his face. 

 

“You need to mind that mouth of yours, is what you need to do.” Charlie started to walk away too, trying to remember what he needed to hide before his new roommate showed up. 

 

Bugger. 

 

“You need to find out all that you can about Estignis, mate. What an opportunity! Ask him if he really is a descendant from an ancient hybrid race, if so, what are they called and what language do dragons speak in and—”

 

Charlie turned abruptly to find his best friends bugging eyes an inch from his face. 

 

“I will do no such thing. If you want to walk about following the bloke to ask these questions, feel free to do so. I, however, will not listen to you talk about this nonsense for a second longer, you hear me?” Charlie said threateningly. He rarely spoke with such force to his friend but his patience was wearing thin today. Already the new additions were proving beyond disruptive to his daily life. 

 

Entering his hut, he took a moment to make some tea and breathe, not wanting to lose his temper just before his shift. He let his mind wander to all that was happening. 

 

It was simply preposterous to even contemplate the idea that a wizard, any wizard, could speak to the flying lizards. If he were honest with himself Charlie knew that even if it were true somehow, he would hate the man on principle. Perhaps more jealousy than principle. 

 

Charlie couldn't imagine what it would be like to be able to communicate with his beloved magical creatures. Everything about the idea seemed taken out of a children's bedtime story. The Bulgarian dragon tamer couldn't possibly be a descendant of a hybrid race of some sort. He could almost hear Mack’s argument in his head: before Estignis, there had been no such rumours of Tamers who could do what he did. What he supposedly was able to do. 

 

Charlie argued that it was merely a publicity stunt, especially now. If not, why had nobody heard of this hybrid species before? The same argument applied both ways. Also, if any of the rumours were true the Bulgarians would be beside themselves and doing anything in their power to keep the only Tamer in recorded history to communicate with dragons. The fact that the transfer was already confirmed at such an early stage meant that the Bulgarian reserve had approved all papers without a hitch, putting no contest to his contract. That in itself was suspicious enough to confirm, at least in Charlie’s mind that this Tamer couldn’t be what the rumours stated. 

 

It was all a farce and nothing anybody said would change his mind. 

 

Now, onto hiding the gifts Fred and George had sent him for Christmas. It wouldn’t do to have his new roommate stumbled upon a box full of products… from their adult line. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

The Romanians were assembling a brand new team to work on Ancalagon. It was comprised of five Tamers from the reserve, five transfer Tamers, six Tamer apprentices, ten Researchers, ten Healers and ten Spell Makers. Such a vast team for a single dragon was unheard of. Hermione couldn’t help but allow herself a little excitement. 46 highly trained, experienced wizards and witches for one dragon. 

 

So, what if it wasn’t the dragon they were claiming? The Romanians weren’t stupid, justifying the expenses of a team of so many qualified wizards wasn’t easy by any means, especially given the notoriety of some of its members. It couldn’t have been cheap to gather the very best in the world in their respective fields to come and work for them with such short notice. 

 

This was either the best con in magical history or they really had one very big, very old dragon somewhere in the reserve. 

 

The young witch couldn’t  _ wait _ to come face to face with the creature. 

 

Grog, true to his word, had applied to get his place in the Internship program, as an apprentice but had yet to hear back. Mila, as a trained Healer  _ and _ Magizoologist to boot, had no problem getting the transfer without delay and Hermione, as Mila had predicted, had  heard back three hours after applying. And so, the two witches were waiting  to receive their portkey at the transport office in the Bulgarian reserve before either had time to wrap their heads around the whole thing.

 

Their portkey had been delayed, some mix up at the Bulgarian Ministry. They arrival to Romania clocking to just after 8:30am, instead of the scheduled 6:30am. 

 

They were met at the Apparition point by a young witch, who introduced herself as Olive. She was short, shorter than even Hermione, with dirty blond hair, a round face and a very pleasant smile. She would be taking them to their respective huts to leave their belongings before giving them a short tour of the Reserve. Being British herself, the petite blond was excited to have Hermione in the reserve. As politely as she could, she told Hermione that she admired her greatly and had looked up to her when she was young, despite the fact that she looked just out of Hogwarts. 

 

At 25 herself, Hermione couldn’t help but wonder how old Olive was exactly, and what could she possibly consider as young, given the fact that she couldn’t be older than 18. Hermione tried to take the compliment as best as she could, asking some polite questions about the reserve while they walked, hoping to change the subject of conversation. The brunette couldn’t help the growing dread at her notoriety being acknowledged in her very first encounter in the reserve. 

 

Hermione didn’t know what the Romanians knew about the British Wizarding War, but she would be stupid to think them completely ignorant as to her role in it. Her brain supplied that Charlie Weasley had worked there for over a decade, during which time said war had taken place. Now that she thought about it, the witch remembered his role in the Order was international recruitment and rallying support. Chances were she wouldn’t be entirely anonymous. Hermione very much hoped the head of the Dragonology department had been discreet, as per her request. 

 

The walk around the Reserve was very pleasant. The warmth caused by the wards gave no hint of the winter chill outside its boundaries, the temperature just right for the scaled beasts and human beings alike. As they overcame a small hill, a path made of small pebbles could be seen, guiding them downhill towards four rows of beautiful egg shaped structures on each side of the path. 

 

“This is the Housing Area Number two, also known as Fireball Housing,” said Olive, as she pointed to the numerous pod-like buildings. “The teams that work directly with the dragons usually stay here. Meaning Tamers,  Medizoologist , the D.A.S. field team and Researchers who take samples and interact directly with the animals. Opaleye Housing, usually ‘houses’, pardon the redundancy, those that do Research, be it in Magizoology or Spell Casting, Regular Healers and Management.” 

 

Constructed entirely out of what looked like polished stone, they stood two stories high, probably around 20 feet, and oddly and non-symmetrically shaped after an egg. With a rich variation of shades of grey, the stone mimicked the different patterns of several species of dragon eggs, contrasting with the black ebony colour of the roofs and doors. The roofs were fashioned of gigantic dragon bones, impossibly entwined, leaving no doubt as to it being achieved by magic means alone. The black ‘thread’ extended beyond the size of the ground level on one side and reduce on the other, given way to a small roofless area. As they got closer, Hermione could see that each row was numbered with smartly chiseled stone numbers, positioned above each doorway. The doors were also made of threaded bones, these ones smaller than those of the rooftops, resulting in more entrancing patterns.

 

“I was told we would be staying in huts,” wondered Hermione out loud. The beauty of the small buildings was staggering. The polished stone of each building would have been impossible to achieve by any muggle means, given the material. It was a striking contrast coming from the Bulgarian Reserve, where they were housed in spacious, but modestly furnished tents. 

 

“Yes, initially they were very rudimentary huts, I suppose everyone just kept calling them that. In 1978, some of the wards around the Reserve disengaged after the unexpected death of the main architect of the reserve, he being the main caster of the wards. Some of the dragons broke free and caused major damage to the infrastructure of the main buildings but thankfully nobody was hurt,” explained Olive as they kept walking. 

 

“A major remodelling was made, where essentially all buildings were rebuilt from scratch by a very talented muggleborn architect, Zaha Hadid,” Olive told them. “I’m told the project was so successful and met with so much praise, she was able to start her own firm a couple of years later.”

 

Hermione was astonished to learn the renowned muggle architect was a witch. The aesthetics of the place and the buildings now started to make sense. From where they were standing, Hermione could spot the main buildings of the reserve. The curved buildings took mind bending curves, forming astoundingly beautiful forms that felt gravity defiant. 

 

“Now, all the buildings are made out of dragon stone and dragon bones for safety reasons. All employees are required to wear dragonhide protection gear underneath their regular clothing for the same reason,” finished Olive. 

 

They arrived at Mila’s assigned “hut”, number 56. It was located more or less halfway to the main buildings, but still a considerable distance from them. Hermione expected they would get leave to apparate within the wards once they had signed their the final papers of the transfer. Olive remained outside and told Mila she could take her time, assuring her that Hermione and her would be waiting outside.

 

Trying to fill the silence, as they waited for Mila to leave her bags and otherwise arranged her belongings, Olive said. “We are equipped to house 520 employees and we’re almost up to capacity now that you are here,” said Olive smiling awkwardly at Hermione. “We’re just shy of 510 wizards working in the Reserve at the present moment.”

 

Hermione wasn’t remaining silent because she was being rude. She was trying to choose between the myriad of questions that were flying a million miles an hour in her brain. The brunette felt unusually uninformed about her new surroundings, she hadn’t really had time to research the Reserve beyond what she had looked up upon getting her N.E.W.T.S. She had been able to find out very little, most reserves were very secretive about how they operated. Their field was a very competitive one and you had to formally apply for an Apprenticeship or a position of some kind to get any real information.

 

“Do you think you can tell me a little more about the Reserve? Perhaps you’re the wrong person to ask but I didn’t have enough time to research the place properly. The transfer was settled sooner than I expected,” Hermione asked, taking up Olive on continuing the conversation. 

 

At her request, Olive’s face lit up and she started racing information as if directly from a pamphlet.

 

“The Reserve was established by Harvey Ridgebit in 1913 at the age of 32; only two years after being the first dragonologist to catch a Peruvian Vipertooth. The Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, as I’m sure you know, is the largest nonprofit Sanctuary in the world dedicated exclusively to rescuing captive, abused and illegally held dragons, providing them with a wonderful life for as long as they live, and educating about the tragic plight faced by an estimated 30000 such animals around the world today. Since January, 1920, our Reserve has responded to more than 3000 requests from private citizens and government agencies to rescue dragons from around the world.”

 

“The three main points of our mission are to rescue dragons who have been abused, abandoned in a dangerous area, illegally kept or exploited; to create for them a wonderful environment for the remainder of their lives; and to educate about the causes and solutions to the Captive Magical Wildlife Crisis, are what we commit to for the dragons, and for the wizards and witches who help to make a positive difference for them.”

 

Hermione was delighted that the young woman seemed to be as enthusiastic about this type of information as she was. 

 

“Most of our residents were abused, abandoned, illegally kept, or were victims of other terrible situations,” Olive continued. “For that reason the sanctuary was designed and built with specialised areas that help rehabilitate newly-rescued dragons that have been targeted by poachers, dragon dealers or those who have been subjected to conditioning via torture to make them somewhat subservient. 

 

Suddenly Olive’s eyes widened a fraction before saying, “I’m sure you’re familiar with one of our dragons, Miss Granger. The one who was abused by Gringotts Wizarding Bank, the one you rescued!” she said excitedly. “He is not the only victim of such abuses, and so we endeavour to provide the care they need to be rehabilitated.”

 

Hermione had to force a smile, uncomfortable to have so many references to her past in just the first half hour. The brunette simply nodded, trying to encourage Olive to talk her way from the Gringotts dragon. Mila exited her hut and they all started in search of Hermione’s. 

 

Mila was pleased with the housing. While their tents in Bulgaria were magical and had all the necessary comforts, if the healer could be believed, this was a five star hotel in comparison. Olive had to agree and expressed that their facilities were top of the line, informing them that not only their Reserve was the biggest, it was also the best equipped in the world, for work and living needs. 

 

Following the descending numbers, Hermione found her assigned hut, number 51. Mila and Olive gave her space to inspect her living space on her own. 

 

As she got closer to the entrance, the witch could see that the patterns in the door were not random. The weaving of the smaller bones described rough but clear shapes that formed the likeness of a Chinese Fireball. Hermione could hardly look away from the strange beauty of the craftsmanship of the door alone. She felt a strange sort of elation, perhaps even hope.

 

Maybe everything would turn out alright. 

 

The hut was empty but clean, which pleased her beyond measure. It was spacious and she understood why management felt comfortable with having them share the space. It was lavish for a single person and having so many new staff members, it made sense. 

 

The roommate in question was nowhere to be seen, but the general neatness and orderly fashion of the place, soothed her unease somewhat. Having to share her space with a complete stranger wasn’t easy for anyone, but Hermione, specifically, had a hard time modifying her routine for the sake of an unknown party. 

 

After a quick sweep of the place, she found a spacious kitchen, a bathroom and a bedroom in the ground floor. There was a small yard out back and a respectful sized living area with the most comfortable couch she had yet to encounter. Upstairs, she found a locked room and a small balcony in the common area. 

 

She presumed that the locked room upstairs was another bedroom and was already occupied by the local Tamer and the one below was meant to be hers. All in all, it was an amazing place. The sole damper on her mood was that it appeared to have only one bathroom, unless the bedroom above had another one inside. She would have preferred a smaller place as long as she didn’t have to share a bathroom. Memories of sharing one with the Weasleys during her stay at the Burrow and even Grimmauld Place was enough for a lifetime. 

 

She didn’t need to leave her bags, as she had packed everything in her beaded bag, which she carried disillusioned and attached to her waistband. After rejoining Mila and Olive, she  commented on her approval of they place and they continued their way towards the main buildings. 

  
  


The same pebbled path lead to the taller structures. Four immense buildings were distributed in a semicircle, two on each side, and around an enormous circled area that surrounded a cylindrical structure, only one story high, made  entirely out of polished dragon bone. On the other side of the cylindrical structure in the middle, were four mirror buildings to the ones on the there side of the semicircle. It was hard to believe that these facilities and grounds had been paid for by the Government.

 

“The Reserve is generally divided in two branches and their correspondant areas. The Fireball Area and the Opaleye Area. The main buildings of both sections are conjoined here.” Olive raised both hands and generally presenting the circular expanse where they stood. “We’ve just come from the Fireball area. The buildings to our right are the Healing Centre and the Furnace, and to the left are Confinement and the Fireball Cafeteria,” explained Olive, pointing to the buildings in question. 

 

Also constructed of grey dragonstone and weaved bones, the buildings stood around fifteen stories high, as far as Hermione could tell, their ground levels tripling in area those that stood above them. Each floor was tall enough to house a fully grown Chinese Fireball within. The impressive buildings were even more awe inspiring up-close. The dragon stone appeared to bend with the same ease as paper, but the strength of the structures was apparent. They looked like smooth sculptors made out of the finest black and grey clay. 

 

“Our centralized compound, which is at the heart of our facilities,” Olive said pointing to the cylindrical structure in the middle of all the buildings. “is used as a receiving area for new dragons and rescues. It’s a unique 7,000-square-foot temperature-controlled round-house, designed as a primary staging area for newly-rescued dragons to go through the first stage of their rehabilitation process. There, the dragons are kept in more traditional caging at first to help minimize the shock of moving, as well as to keep from overwhelming their senses by fully immersing them with other dragons right from the start.

 

“Confinement,” Olive continued, pointing to the building directly to their left. “Is where the dragons that are having a particularly hard time adapting are held before the Immersement process can begin. Each area and its related facilities are designed for specific species since not all animals can be rehabilitated the same way. There they can receive specialised care so that they can be released to the open areas designated to their species.”

 

“After their stage in Confinement, they have a full medical check up. Expert care, proper diets and enrichment are provided in the Healing Centre by our exceptional team of Magizoologists who specialise in healing,” said Olive, pointing to the building directly to their right. “That’s also where the dragons that get naturally injured in the field are looked after. Each species has a designated floor, as is the case in most Fireball buildings”

 

“When they’ve been cleared by the  Medizoologist , each dragon is released to our open grounds, or the one designated to their species, and is allowed to build relationships with other dragons and also interact in the large playground on a regular basis. Eventually, we end up with a group of dragons that are confident in large spaces and can co-exist without major difficulties.”

 

“The open grounds surround all the buildings in the reserve and have strict wards that keep the dragons from moving outside their designated areas. The grounds are quite extensive, so they rarely try, but if they do, the wards keep them from succeeding. Once your transfer is complete you’ll be allowed within the wards and you’ll be able to apparate freely to any given area and the grounds,” Olive continued. 

“On the Opaleye Area we have Research, Management and D.A.S., the Infirmary and the Opaleye Cafeteria,” Olive said pointing to each building on the other side of the Compound.

 

The Infirmary building was clearly marked with a red cross on top of it. and while the cafeteria had no sign itself, the tables on its side betrayed the purpose of the building. 

 

“What does D.A.S. stand for?” asked Mila.

 

“Dragon Attention Services,” replied Olive. “Our D.A.S. Team or Dragon Attention Services is called upon by local, state and national law enforcement agencies to ensure public safety in situations where the public and/or dragons are at risk. We take public safety very seriously. Every year, people get hurt or killed by captive dragons that have not been properly housed, or because the people were allowed to be in unsafe situations by the animals’ owners or keepers.” 

 

Hermione frowned at the answer. Back home, t he Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures would have jurisdiction over the Wales Reserve to provide any and all services needed for dragons that hadn’t been placed yet. It had been part of her job when she still thought a desk job might be the course to take.  

 

“The illicit dragon trade is the third largest source of illegal profits in the magical world today. Untold numbers of animals suffer and die each year due to neglect, abuse or because they are abandoned and left to die, starving and alone. Our D.A.S. team is in charge to either move them to our Reserve or arrange their transport to another Reserve in case we are not able to receive them.”

 

“Are those cases not a part of the Government's jurisdiction?” asked Hermione. 

 

“Yes. The D.A.S. Department is almost an Appendix to the Magical Creatures Oversight Bureau since the project was proposed to the Government in 1979. Mister Ridgebit managed to find private funding for the renovations and expansion of ‘78, so when all was said and done, we had better facilities and more qualified personnel to respond to those cases.”

 

Suddenly, everything made sense. After being a part of the Ministry for only three months, Hermione knew how difficult it was to get the people in power to let go of a single knut. It was difficult to accept that the Government had paid for such a Reserve because they hadn’t. 

 

As they walked, Hermione noticed a group of people were gathered at the entrance of the Cafeteria closest to them, one of which sported a red man bun. Immediately she knew who it was and all her attention was deviated from their guide. 

 

Charlie Weasley was nothing like she remembered. Last time she had lain eyes on the man had been after the final battle. He had stayed a couple of weeks after Percy’s funeral, supporting Molly through the grief, only to be called back to the reserve for some kind of emergency. He visited more often, but Hermione hadn’t crossed paths with him before leaving for Bulgaria. 

 

The second eldest Weasley was shorter than his brothers, but still a head and a half taller than her. He looked  _ good  _ for 30. His face, ridden with so many freckles it was hard to tell the exact tone of his skin, looked tan from exposure to the sun. His shoulder length hair was tied in a soft bun, a few strands standing in the way of his eyes. His arms were broad, in good proportion to his height, sporting dragonhide protective pieces that were perfectly tailored to the contours of his body. Hermione was hard pressed to look away. 

 

This was not how her 18 year-old-self remembered him. She vaguely remembered Tonks saying Charlie looked terribly handsome during Bill’s wedding. At the time, Hermione had been too infatuated with Ron to pay him much attention. 

 

The witch found herself doing the math to check how many years he had on her. Shaking her head to push away that train of though- seven. The answer was seven, thought technically she was 25 if she counted her Time Turner mischief. So, five. A five year difference. Forcing herself not to blush, she noticed that her guide was taking them towards the people gathered there and noticed, a little too late, that they were all looking at her pointedly. 

 

A very tall and imposing figure walked up to her and said, “Miss Granger, it’s good of you to join us!” His hair was a deep black, cut short on the back but longer on the front, with the exception of a single lock of hair that was completely white. l

 

“Pardon?” was the only reply Hermione could muster. 

 

Looking around, she recognised Rolf Scamander and several other well known Magizoologists. There must have been around thirty people, sporting either annoyed, awed or bored faces.

 

“We’ve been waiting for you to start the meeting,” replied the man with a forced smile. 

 

_ Now _ she was blushing to the roots of her hair, embarrassed. Hermione looked towards Olive and then to Mila, trying to understand how they could be late to a meeting they didn’t know they had. 

 

“Sir, I was told they had no meetings today,” said Olive, just as confused as Hermione herself. “They had a tour scheduled with me for the morning.”

 

“I sent a memo this morning, Olivia,” the bite in his tone made Hermione think that calling the woman  _ Olivia _ had been no mistake. He made a shoo-ing movement with his hand, dismissing Olive.

 

The man that had spoken to her, and was clearly in charge, addressed the group, “Well, now that we’re all here, I’m happy to welcome you all to our reserve. My name is Gheorghe Ionescu  Director of Animal Care.” The locals clapped in welcome for a moment or two. 

 

“One of your fellow Tamers missed his portkey. However, the rest of what will be your working team is here. Look around,” said Gheorghe, motioning towards the group. “The people around you will be working with you in an extraordinary case. You’ll be working towards the same goals, in a singular case.”

 

“That may be odd to some of you, as you may be used to working on multiple dragons, or even multiple species, but I want this team to dedicate the entirety of its time and energy on this case. Something like this has never been attempted before. You will be pioneers,” Gheorghe said motivationally. 

 

The excitement and anticipation among the group was palpable. Some of them took the opportunity to assess those around them. It was interesting for Hermione, the array of facial expressions. She didn’t know most of the people present, but they were not there by chance, they had to be the best in their current fields. Then there was her, but she didn’t want to think about  _ that _ .

 

“I’m not able to say much more, but before the week is over, your life will never be the same,” Gheorghe declared. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
